


you may know me, you may not

by saveourtiredhearts



Category: Sky High (2005)
Genre: A lot of talking, M/M, Running Away, Smoking, The College Years, and jump cuts, other sky high characters mentioned, teenage angst, the ocs are warren's roommates, weed and tobacco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:16:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21736684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saveourtiredhearts/pseuds/saveourtiredhearts
Summary: Warren is minding his own business, halfway through an engineering degree and pretty pleased with the new life he's been building away from all that superpowered bullshit. And then Will Stronghold shows up.
Relationships: Warren Peace/Will Stronghold
Comments: 5
Kudos: 103





	you may know me, you may not

**Author's Note:**

> Credits to yabamena and their work "All Hands Against His Own" for Will's superhero name 'Citadel'. I thought that was so apt that I had to steal it!  
> I've been reading some works in the fandom and realized that what I really wanted was a College AU where they both decide to ditch their superhero lives and live as civilians. This...isn't exactly that.  
> Also, this story was living in my google docs under the working title of "sky HIGH lmao". I think that really tells you all you need to know.

Warren thinks about apprenticing himself to a blacksmith for approximately three seconds before dragging himself down to earth and applying to college. Seriously. Not just to build up his civilian secret identity. It’s not the done thing, but it’s not the medieval ages anymore and the last thing he wants to do is fight.

He has a good reason for it, and would happily say so if anyone ever asked. Something along the lines of not wanting to prove himself a villain or a hero--not having to prove himself at all. He did enough of that in high school, with the utter disaster that was sophomore year. Not to mention his avoidance of the constant itching under his skin that started up in him after homecoming, one that couldn’t be stopped by holding Elsa’s hand. Or even, eventually, getting into bed with her. The itching that kept him chasing after Will for two years, with all the subtlety of an elephant. And yet, only Layla had noticed, approximately two weeks before she broke up with Will. The conversation they had later, in the Paper Lantern, was their awkwardest to date.

Date. Heh.

But Will had his own problems. Warren had no hesitation about labeling Will’s apparent straightness as an issue, but it went beyond that. They had daddy issues up the wazoo. And Warren _knew_ daddy issues. Plus, even as Warren pined after him, he was aware enough to notice that Will was a flaky son of a bitch. Here one moment, gone the next. In the public eye for heroism, and then disappearing from school for a week in his junior year. Warren had been pretty concerned about him, but after Will’s thousandth brush off, and a firm denial of any strong friendship, Warren had told himself fiercely to just let it go.

Here, in a city halfway across the country, there’s a weight lifted from Warren’s shoulders that he didn’t really notice until it was gone. Here, no one knows him or his father or the Strongholds. Here, no one expects him to be one thing or another. In a big university, it’s easier than pie to disappear into the crowd.

The beginning of sophomore year, Warren picks Engineering as his major, and becomes even more indistinguishable from the crowd.

“You’re coming out,” Crystal says, appearing in the doorway of his bedroom. She’s stolen his black boots again, the laces untangled and only tied up halfway. She’s in her going out outfit, jean shorts and a mesh crop top, even though they’re halfway through November already. 

Warren grunts, one finger tapping repeatedly on the escape button on his keyboard. He can’t get out of the window, and has resorted to a method he knows won’t work. Two (and almost a half) years of Engineering have taught him that much, at least. “Did that last year.” He doesn’t need to look up to know Crystal is rolling her eyes.

“Ha ha,” says Crystal. “Always the same joke with you. If you want to sit here and wither away I guess that’s cool, but I’m not going out with this guy only to get murdered at the club, so…”

Warren finally escapes the page he was on, and looks up. He studies his flatmate from across the room. “Seriously?”

“Hannah had my phone.”

“And she, what, texted some man in your astrology class under the guise of being you? Pull the other one.”

Crystal sighs in clear exasperation. “It’s called Tinder, Warren. You’d think with your powers--”

“Don’t.”

Crystal huffs, and comes into the room. She squints over at Warren’s computer screen, and with a decisive movement, shuts it hard. Warren gives her his best glare. It does nothing.

“You’re coming with me to make sure Harvey isn’t a douche. And also so I can get you to loosen up a little bit. You need to take a chill pill.” She studies him for a moment. “Or maybe chill is the opposite of your problem.”

Warren scowls. So he hasn’t used his powers in months. So what? Who cares? It’s not like anyone expects him to use them. He’s fully in secret identity mode here, with Crystal only finding out because of an incident early on in their friendship. He knows the university has plenty of powered people--if you are one, you tend to be able to pick others out. But Warren quite likes passing as un-powered. One less tie to everything before.

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll come to make sure ‘Harvey’--” He says the name with the derision it deserves. “--isn’t going to kill you. And then I’m leaving.”

Crystal pats his head fondly, leaning over so that her long dreads swing into his face. “And a drink,” she says. “At least one.” Warren growls at her, and she dances away with a laugh. “You’re my favorite!” she calls out, disappearing down the hall.

Warren knows Sadie is actually her favorite, but Sadie is everyone’s favorite. And besides, it’s the thought that counts.

Harvey is--very muscular. And knows it too, if the white t-shirt two sizes too small is anything to go by. But he’s funny as well, and clearly determined to impress Crystal, so Warren gives him a pass for now.

They start the night at Out n’ In, the bar he and Crystal always go to, but with two cocktails down the hatch, Crystal wants to dance. Warren is not a dancer, so he takes his leave. But not before getting in a last word with Harvey.

“You harm one hair on her head,” he says while Crystal is in the bathroom, “and all they’re going to find of you is your ashes.”

He doesn’t even have to turn the flame on and reveal himself to this rando. Nice to know his patented scowl technique still functions. It gives him enough of a boost that he decides he can take the thirty minutes to walk back to his shared apartment, instead of spending money on a five minute taxi drive. Yeah, it’s November, but it’s not like he can ever get cold.

It turns out to be the worst idea he’s had in a while. Because as Warren wanders down that empty strip of road between the Domino’s and the start of suburbia, he spots a guy under a tree, smoking. There are no street lights on this stretch, so it’s impossible to make out his face, but it’s easy enough to see the man drop his lit cigarette directly onto the dead leaves scattered on the ground.

Warren strides right up to him, infuriated both by the littering (thanks, Layla), and the potential for the whole thing to go up in flame. “Are you an idiot?” he growls out. And then all sound dies in his throat.

Will--because it is him, Warren would know the shape of those eyes and the cut of that jaw and the line of that nose anywhere, anytime, as much as he hates himself for it--looks about as astonished as Warren feels. “Warren?” he says.

Warren takes a step back. “Are you fucking following me,” he says. Not even a question. Cold fury and hot fear are rising up in him, faster than a volcano spits out lava. Somehow, even though he hasn’t thought of his life back then since he left it, he can instantly identify this as worst case scenario. Especially with how gorgeous Will looks, effortlessly handsome in a way Warren has never been and always wanted.

Will barks out a short sharp laugh, a sound that has no place coming out of his mouth. “It was more of a general running _away_ , if we’re being honest. ” He looks at Warren, doesn’t even have to tip his face up to do it. “I assume you know what I mean.”

Warren studies him for a moment. There’s no hint of facial hair, but Will still looks older, in the lines in his brow and the downturn of his lips. He’s wearing a red and white sweater with blue jeans and a pair of beat up converse. Always in the Stronghold colors. 

He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything. He’s a man of few words. Even fewer now with his high school crush--Warren’s man enough to admit it--standing right in front of him. Looking simultaneously worse and better than he ever did.

“Are those blonde highlights?” Warren finally asks, when it becomes clear that Will is just going to keep staring at him. He’s uncomfortable with Will seeing him. He wonders what Will thinks of his outfit--the dark purple shirt, the black skinny jeans, the red handkerchief in his belt loop and the new piercings in his ears. The same hair as always.

“Got into a spot of trouble two weeks ago. She had sun powers, nearly bleached my hair to death. So, accidental blonde highlights.”

Warren stares at him. Will Stronghold. The hero. Walking away from yet another successful battle with a quip and a smile. All of a sudden, he knows he can’t deal with any more of this. He turns his back and starts to walk away.

“So you’re just going to leave me here?” calls Will. He sounds slightly amused.

“Fly back to Mommy and Daddy, Stronghold,” Warren shoots back. He almost groans aloud when he hears the sound of shoes slapping the pavement. Will catches up to him easily.

“I’d rather not, to be completely honest with you.” He hesitates. “I don’t suppose I could crash at yours for the night? I don’t know anybody here.”

The moment he asks, Warren knows he’s going to say yes, cursing himself all the while. He always does this. He’s such a sucker. A fucking idiot. So just to make Will squirm, and buy himself a little time, he says “Surely someone knows you. Will Stronghold. Stand aside, and watch the ladies fall at his feet. The third of the Stronghold Three.” Something occurs to him. “If you don’t know anybody here, then why did you come?” Warren risks a breakage in his uncaring manner by shooting a glance at Will, who catches the look, and twists his lips into a wry smile. It looks like he has to force his face into position.

“Told you. Running away.”

Thank god it’s Friday. Not to sound cliche. The alarm on his phone goes off, and Warren bashes it off, already swinging his feet off his bed in an automatic response. Then, with his toes inches away from Will Stronghold’s face, Warren wakes all the way up.

“What the fuck,” he mutters to himself, stepping carefully over Will’s unconscious body. “The fuck. What.”

“Didn’t used to curse so much,” comes Will’s sleep soaked voice. At the doorway, Warren freezes. In resignation, he turns back to gaze down at Will, still close to comatose on the floor of Warren’s bedroom. With vicious satisfaction, he finds he cannot recall the last time he vacuumed the carpet that most of Will’s skin is currently in contact with.

“Didn’t used to go to college, either,” says Warren. “Almost like time passes. People change.” He turns back around to reset his original path towards the bathroom. Behind him, Will lets out a soft hum.

“You’re telling me.”

Warren’s shoveling a banana into his mouth and checking the time on the microwave when Will strolls into the kitchen, redressed in his clothes from the day before. He’s got a cigarette pack in one hand, and a lighter in the other.

“Can’t smoke in here,” says Warren.

“Wasn’t going to. You have class this early? What do you even study?”

“No. Work.”

“Tattoo parlor?”

“Mechanic’s.”

Will laughs. “Of course.”

Warren fights the urge to squirm in his seat. He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t want Will and all that shit he associates with that time of his life to come back, and yet it’s all here, standing in the middle of his kitchen and the new life he’s trying to build. “Shut up. I can’t believe you’re a smoker.”

“Time passes. People change,” says Will, just on the wrong side of mocking. Warren blinks. When did the Stronghold hero get so sarcastic? And--downtrodden? “Can I smoke on the balcony?”

“This early in the morning?”

“I’m taking that as a yes, then,” says Will, and proceeds to wrestle the sliding door open.

“Don’t break that.”

“Fuck off.”

With those final words, Warren decides it’s more than past time to get the hell out of dodge. He grabs his phone and wallet, and disappears out the front door.

But not without glancing once at Will, leaning over the edge of the balcony and putting a fresh cigarette to his lips. The face he makes at the first inhale is almost--

Warren scowls, hates himself for even thinking it, and firmly shuts the door.

He should’ve guessed that Will would show up at the shop, but it’s still a surprise when he walks himself through the door. Warren looks up at the sound of the bell, his automatic greeting dying an immediate death on his lips.

“I thought you worked at a mechanic’s,” says Will, and yes, here’s the guy Warren knows. Confused and more than a little bit lost. “This is a hardware shop.”

“Connected to the car fixing bit. The owner owns this bit too, and he’s a mechanic. I work at the mechanic’s. Not hard to follow.”

Will stops idly playing with a hammer to look at him. “Nice to know you’re still a pain in the ass.”

“Nice to know you’re still a dumbass,” says Warren. It’s a terrible comeback, but he’s a little stunned to hear the curse come out of Will’s mouth. It’s not like he thought Will didn’t curse ever, it’s more like he can’t reconcile it with Will’s golden boy image.

The hammer clatters to the counter. “How much for this?” Will asks. Warren gapes at him.

“You don’t want this,” says Warren.

Will snorts. “‘Course I don’t. But hey, this way we can get you up to quota. Or whatever.”

Warren squints at him. “Have you ever had a customer service job in your life?” He points at the tin can next to the cash register. “Don’t buy a fucking hammer. Just tip me.”

Will raises an eyebrow. “Not going to argue against me giving you money? No angry words about handouts?”

Maybe there would have been, once upon a time. But Warren is beginning to reconcile himself to the fact that this man, standing right in front of him, is very different from the Will he knew at Sky High.

Also, he’s a broke college student.

“Gave you room and board last night. Pay up.”

As Will takes a crumpled bill out of his back pocket and tosses it into the tip can, Warren can’t help but notice his shaking hand. He nods at it. “Need a smoke already?”

Will snatches his hand back, dropping it below the counter. “Fuck off.” It’s more vicious than anything that’s come out of his mouth so far. Warren hides his bemusement. Will swipes the shaking hand through his hair, then the other one--which is also shaking, and then crosses his arms. “Are you off soon?”

It’s mid-afternoon. Warren checks the clock. “Two more hours,” he says. “You sticking around?” The last part trips out of his mouth without his say so. Warren deepens his frown in an attempt to compensate for how momentarily needy he had sounded. He doesn’t need Will. In fact, he’d rather Will left right now, preferably never to return. Then Warren could move on and--

“Yeah, think so,” says Will. “I’ll meet you here at six. I don’t know where the good places to eat are here.”

“I could just tell you now,” Warren offers, but Will’s already turning away and escaping out the front door. The bell tinkles happily. Not for the first time, Warren contemplates melting the damn thing down to goo. 

Like promised, Will is out front when Warren clocks out. He’s not grinning triumphantly, or standing in some sort of victory pose like Warren had imagined through the last eternal hour of his shift. Instead he’s on the lone metal bench, twirling a swiss army knife through his fingers, and stamping out a cigarette with his foot. It’s an incongruous image.

“What happened to your gloves?” he asks, the minute Warren steps outside. He tucks the knife away.

Warren takes a moment to cotton onto what Will is talking about. “My fingerless gloves?” he asks, just to check. Will nods. “Dude. Some of us get over our bad fashion choices.” He raises an outfit at Will’s red, white, and blue. “Some of us stupidly decide to stick with them.”

Will looks down at himself. “I didn’t even notice,” he murmurs. And then, louder, “I liked the gloves.”

Warren stares at him, dumbstruck. “You’re an idiot.”

“Where are we going for dinner?” A cold wind rustles the trees as Will stands up. He shivers, and wraps his arms around himself. 

“Home,” says Warren, ignoring the tiny voice screaming _Put your arms around him! Warm him up!_ “Don’t have the budget to eat out right now. Plus it’s Sadie’s turn to cook. She’s really good at it.” Warren’s not sure why he’s volunteering all this information. He’s not sure why he texted Sadie an hour ago to warn her there would be a fifth person at their kitchen table. 

Will offers him a half smile. And shivers. “Jesus. Let’s get out of here. You got a car or something?”

Warren laughs. “Me? No. A bike.”

When Warren heads around the side of the shop and reveals his bicycle--a rusted hunk of a thing--the look on Will’s face is priceless.

“I thought you meant a motorcycle,” protests Will, glaring at Warren. “This thing is a piece of shit.”

Warren pretends to look hurt. “Hey, don’t say that sort of thing about my Bessie.”

If possible, Will looks even more incredulous. “Tell me you didn’t name your bike Bessie,” he says weakly.

Warren grins a little. “Nah, just made that up to annoy you. Not enough room for two, though I guess you could sit on the handlebars.” A thought occurs. “How’d you get here?”

Will looks at him like he’s crazy. “Flew.”

Ah. Yes, of course. “I guess I’ll see you back at the apartment. You can land on the balcony, or at the front door and I’ll let you up the normal way when I get there.”

Will frowns. “Don’t be stupid. That’ll take forever. You can just fly with me.”

Warren--does not want to spend any amount of time with Will’s arms locked around him, teasing him with the idea of something he can’t have;. “Fire powers,” says Warren, pointing at himself. “Idiot. You think you’d remember.”

Will gives him a look he can’t quite read. “Of course I remember,” he says. “I can hold you.”

“And leave the bike here?”

“And you can hold the bike. It’ll be easy for me to carry as long as you keep a tight grip on it. Super strength, remember?”

“Remember,” Warren scoffs under his breath, accidentally repeating Will as he resigns himself to this new indignity. “Like I could ever fucking forget.”

It takes about five minutes, is much less humiliating than Warren assumed it would be, and Will lands them on the balcony because he’s apparently an asshole now.

“Where the fuck am I supposed to put my bike?” Warren snaps at him, tired of keeping up with all these rapid fire changes in Will’s personality. Can’t people just stay the same? Warren keeps visualizing a Will mold, some giant thing he can shove Will into so that the guy will go back to being exactly who Warren remembers him as. Cocky. Stupid. Heroic.

On second thought, Warren reflects as Will flies his bike to ground level and locks it up, he’s still got all those same traits. They’re just manifesting themselves differently now. And Warren finds himself dangerously curious as to why.

Crystal, who’s apparently been watching the whole drama from inside the kitchen, unlocks the balcony door for the two of them. Warren heads inside with haste, eager to get away from the close physical realities of Will’s body, taller and more muscular than before.

“Hey,” says Crystal, grinning at Will. “I’m guessing you’re a friend of Warren’s? What brings you into town?”

“We knew each other in high school,” says Will. He’s got a smile on now, a classic Stronghold smile that erases everything but the pleasant stuff in his face. He shakes Crystal’s hand. “I’m Will, by the way.”

“Crystal,” she says, taking his hand, and then her eyes widen. “Will. Will Stronghold?”

Warren, helping Sadie to take the stuffing out of the oven, turns around to watch this train wreck unfold. But true to Sky High’s media training, Will’s smile stays fixed on his face.

“The one and only,” he says with a slight chuckle. “But don’t go spreading that around.”

Crystal eyes him. Warren hasn’t told her much about his high school experience, or really much about his life beyond minimal basics. Stuff like: pyrotechnic, asshole dad, missing mom, bad choices, Chinese, and getting the hell away from his old life. But there have been a few drunken moments since he met her halfway through first year in which he might have spilled a little more that he was betraying.

But Crystal doesn’t betray what she knows--if indeed, she knows anything. She merely nods, and gestures towards the hallway. “Damien’s the only one here who’s got powers. If you count luckiness as a power.” Damien chooses that moment to appear from his bedroom, dressed in his classic Superman shirt and boxers. Crystal claps a hand over her eyes. “Ew, Damien, put your dick away!”

“Luckiness is a power,” protests Damien. “And my dick isn’t out! I very clearly have boxers on. Woah, is that Will Stronghold? Shit, someone should have told me to put pants on!”

“I’m telling you right now!” shouts Crystal, and Damien disappears into his bedroom again. She levels a look at Sadie and Warren. “I cannot put up with this white boy nonsense every day. I swear to god.”

“He’s--not a fan, is he?” asks Will, hesitant. The idea of Will having _fans_ makes Warren’s blood boil in a way he can’t particularly articulate, so he chooses to turn his back on the whole thing and help Sadie plate the mashed potatoes. 

“Don’t worry,” says Crystal reassuringly. “He won’t tell anyone he saw you, as long as you ask him not to.”

“Right,” Will replies. He doesn’t sound reassured. Still, he takes a seat next to Crystal at the dining table, and when Damien returns, endures rapid fire questions as Warren and Sadie get the food onto the table.

“Don’t you have another roommate?” Will asks as he reaches for a baked potato. “There was this guy, this morning--”

“Oh my god,” says Warren, turning to Crystal. Besides him, Sadie’s eyes are wide open, and she executes an excellent dramatic double take. “Did you sleep with him?”

“He was so lovely,” says Crystal dreamily. “And he’s got a beautiful friend, Warren.”

Warren freezes, and then shakes his head frantically at Crystal, hoping she gets the message. _Do not let Will know I’m queer_. “Absolutely not. I’m not letting you set me up with another one of your hookup’s friends.”

Crystal sniffs. “I’m meeting him for coffee next week, actually.” Sadie gestures to the salt, and Crystal passes it over. “So you can just shut your mouth. When’s the last time anyone in this house got laid? You should all be applauding me.”

Damien gives a couple of short claps before returning to his attempt to get as much stuffing into his mouth as possible in one go. Besides him, Will looks both disgusted and amused. It’s adorable. Warren hates himself for thinking it. 

The rest of dinner goes much the same. Will tries to deflect any and all questions about himself, Crystal chats about her day and drags Warren into making the occasional aside, and Damien eats like the apocalypse is coming. Next to him, Sadie sits like a silent queen, watching over her subjects with a quiet smile, and sometimes tapping away at her phone under the table.

Warren excuses himself from dishes, claiming that since he helped at the beginning, he shouldn’t have to help at the end. It’s a stupid excuse, but he always gets uncomfortably wet when doing the dishes. It’s such a wimpy thing, especially seeing as he worked as a dishwasher at Paper Lantern for _forever_ , but him and water have never mixed too well. Showers are fine, but even though he knows how to swim, he tries to avoid doing it. But surprise him with a water balloon fight, and Warren’s always felt more inclined to kick the perpetrator’s head in than engage in the ‘fun’.

Will follows him down the hallway.

“What are you, a lost dog?” Warren says irritably. “Go back to your masters. Stop barking at my heels.”

“Woof woof,” says Will agreeably. “Hey, can you light my cigarette? Lost my lighter somewhere today.”

Warren stops dead in the hallway. He resists the urge to punch Will. He was struggling all through dinner, with Will’s warm thigh pressing against his every time he reached across the table for more food. And now the man wants them to spend _more_ time together? When is he going to realize that just because you’re a hero doesn’t automatically mean you get forgiven?

But he doesn’t voice any of that. “Turn around, we’re going back to the balcony, because apparently you lost your voice somewhere between the kitchen table and here.” He marches them both back to the screen door, struggles to slide it open as always, and the two of them fit themselves on the small concrete floor.

There’s not really enough room for the two of them to sit, but they make it work. Will’s knees end up touching the shins of Warren’s crossed legs. Warren, stupidly, is thankful for this touch.

“All these plants remind me of Layla,” says Will, fingering the leaves of a small succulent by his right knee. “Did you know she’s in the Sahara? Working on this wall of trees they’re trying to make to block the expansion of the desert.”

“Yeah,” grunts Warren. At Will’s confused look, he feels compelled to add, “We’re facebook friends.” She had posted a whole bundle of new photos last week. 

Will furrows his brow. “We’re not facebook friends.”

“You gonna smoke or what?” Warren doesn’t say that he had almost friended Will, at the beginning of senior year, before thinking about how much it would hurt if Will didn’t accept his request. It was unbearably stupid, so Warren had buried the whole incident in his subconcious and resolved not to think about it. 

“I’ve got a joint,” says Will. He pulls his battered cigarette case out of his pocket. His hands are shaking again, and he has a little trouble digging the weed out from between the little tubes of tobacco. “But I can’t smoke the whole thing by myself.” He waggles an eyebrow at Warren.

Warren throws caution to the wind. It’s a terrible idea. But maybe it will calm him down. Even with the breeze blowing, he can feel the desire to spark up lingering in his fingertips. “Yeah, sure,” he says gruffly. Will smiles at him--the first real smile Warren’s seen on his face all day--and sticks the white roll in his own mouth. He leans forward.

For a moment, Warren only stares at him. He’s so close. His eyebrows and hair color are mismatched, and his eyes are already red, with deep bags under them. He smells a little like Warren’s cologne, and a lot like smoke.

Trembling a little himself, Warren lights a tiny flame on his pointer finger--and it feels good, almost too good, all that repressed energy eager to be let free--and touches it to the tip of Will’s joint. Will closes his eyes and takes a deep inhale before wrapping his fingers around the little white roll and offering to Warren. Smoke drips itself out of his mouth. Warren wants to kiss him.

He takes the weed instead.

“Does Sadie not talk?” Will asks suddenly, as Warren takes his first big inhale. Warren glares at Will, and makes him wait while the burn in his throat passes.

“Selective mutism,” he says finally, passing the joint back over. “You’re a stranger. She wasn’t gonna talk with you there.”

Will looks uncomfortable. “I could’ve gone out to eat.”

“It’s fine. I texted her before and asked if it was alright.”

“Still--”

Warren gives Will a look. “She’s a big girl, Stronghold. If she didn’t want you to come, she would have said so. You’ve got the worst hero complex I’ve ever seen.”

For some reason, this sets Will off. It’s not pleasant laughter, but rather uncontrolled hysterics that indicate how extremely on the edge he is. Warren shifts uncomfortably, now more worried than he was before, and takes the joint from Will. Hesitantly, he places a hand on Will’s left knee.

“Dude,” he says softly, once Will has gotten his breath back. He’s red in the face, and his eyes are glazed. “What’s wrong?” And then, when Will doesn’t respond, “What happened?”

Will is silent for a long moment. Besides them, past the buildings below, the sun is setting. It casts a warm glow over Will’s face, highlighting the cut of his jaw. Warren thinks of the boy he once knew, and the man who sits before him now. Thinks of the person he once was, and the person he’s now trying to be. It’s like a math equation, with an incredible multiplicity of variables adding up to a future, variables Warren can’t even begin to guess at.

“My parents wanted me to go to business school so I could get my realtor’s license.”

When Will doesn’t continue, Warren frowns. “That’s it?” Really? 

Will screws up his face. “Shut up and let me finish.” He takes another deep puff of the joint before passing it back to Warren. Warren takes it and shuts up. “But I wasn’t really sure I wanted to be a realtor. I mean, if I had to have a job besides superheroing, I would pretty much want to do anything _but_ real estate. I don’t want to be like my parents, just repeating everything they’ve ever done. I especially don’t want to be like my dad. Do you have any alcohol? I feel like we need alcohol for this discussion.”

“You want to get crossfaded?” Warren asks. Will considers it for a moment, then shakes his head. He sighs a little, and then keeps talking.

“I mean, you were there for most of my high school experience. And ever since the disaster in first year, it never really let up. I thought it was cool at first. Getting to save all those people. Finally living up to what everyone wanted me to be.”

Warren remembers it all pretty quickly. He had divorced himself from the hero-ing scheme as much as he could, as soon as possible. But Will had gone ahead and thrown himself into it, joining his parents on missions and missing school in favor of flying to the latest disaster, or kicking robot ass. He had appeared on the front page of the newspaper again and again. By the start of Warren’s senior year, you could barely go a week without seeing Will’s grinning face rendered in black and white. 

“But what they don’t tell you…” Will huffs, and shakes his head. He gestures to the joint and Warren passes it back. It’s nearly done, the cherry flickering. “I knew I couldn’t save everyone. But I could at least try, right? And I tried, every single time, I was trying so goddamn hard, and no one--no one said anything, but when I made a mistake, they all spoke up. Dad and Mom don’t get it, I think, not in the same way. They never had all this expectation. And then they totally freaked when I stopped joining them on trips halfway around the world to provide disaster relief because if I looked at one more dead body I was going to puke. Or another half starved child, or another person who had lost absolutely everything, just _staring_ \--” Will cuts himself off and sucks at the joint, before giving up and tossing it to the ground. “There’s no class at Sky High for trauma. That’s what they need. Hey, forget study hall, we’re going to teach you how to deal with all the deaths you’re going to see. All the people you’re not going to be able to save, all the lives devastated that you can’t do anything about.”

Somewhere in the midst of Will’s avalanche of words, Warren had placed both his hands on Will’s knees. He squeezes them now, turning the heat up just a tad so that his touch is warm. Reassuring, maybe. He takes the joint out of his mouth. “Yeah,” he says gruffly. “I’d say our high school curriculum was less than ideal.” He’s not sure what else to say.

Surprisingly, Will laughs. “That’s the least of it,” he says. He looks at Warren then, turning away from the view to stare directly into his eyes. “But I suppose you knew all that already,” he says abruptly. “And that’s why you--didn’t.”

Warren’s not ready to talk about himself yet. “So you took a gap year?” 

Will takes back the joint, and puffs at the small stub before responding. “Yeah. Partnered up with Elsa--you know her, Ice Queen--and shot around the tristate area, arresting baddies and saving damsels. Halfway through I started not being able to sleep. And I mean, ever since Royal Pain I’ve had insomnia. But it just got worse, and worse. All of a sudden it was hard to get out of bed. Dad and Mom didn’t get it, couldn’t understand how when they had been superheroing their whole lives, it was affecting me this badly. And I’m so--I don’t get it either. I don’t understand how they can handle it all and I can’t. I shouldn’t be this fucked up about it. People expect me to be a hero. And I just keep failing them.”

Warren looks at Will. Then he sighs, and opens his arms. “Come here.”

Will stares at him, clearly confused. “What?”

Warren gestures with his fingers. “Come. Here.”

Uneasily, Will moves forward, tossing the joint aside. He shifts onto his knees, and then, overbalancing, falls forward into Warren’s arms. Warren resettles him easily, noticing that even though he might look stronger, Will weighs about the same as he ever did. In a moment, they’re essentially cuddling, Will tucked between Warren’s outstretched legs and resting his head on his chest, with Warren’s arms holding him tight. He heats up a little bit. He can’t imagine Will is anything other than chilly on this balcony. Night has almost fallen.

“You’re high,” says Will.

“So are you,” says Warren, and lifts one hand to stroke Will’s sun bleached hair. He likes it better darker. “Listen. You don’t have to be what they want you to be. There are hundreds of superheroes who are active, and thousands of powered people who aren’t, and even more non-powered people who save the world everyday. You know what I mean? You don’t have to be super to be good. And hell, if you want to stop fighting, that’s up to you. That’s your choice. Nobody can take that choice away from you.” Warren considers for a moment. “If you just want some recovery time, you deserve that. If you want to go to college for sculpting or whatever, you can figure out a way to do it. You don’t have to be a superhero, Will. Just because Sky High taught us one thing doesn’t mean there aren’t hundreds of other ways to be.” He tightens his grip. “Whatever you want to do, you should be able to do. Maybe it doesn’t always work out that way. But you’ve got a lot of options. If you don’t want to fight anymore.”

The two of them are quiet for several long moments. It’s almost completely dark out now. Warren can feel Will’s heartbeat against his chest, and lets it steady him. 

“I’m bi,” Will says suddenly. “Dad said I shouldn’t tell anyone. Superheroing is all about hiding your true identity anyway. What’s the point of announcing that Citadel is bisexual when I can just be gay on my own time?” He snorts. “I’m gay all the time.” 

Warren blinks, a little stunned. He tries to quell the sudden hope that’s sprung up in the back of his throat. “I’m pan,” he says in response. “And um, thank you for telling me?” He never knows what to say.

Will chuckles. “I kind of guessed,” he admits. “My third power is gaydar, y’know.”

It’s Warren’s turn to chuckle. “It would be nice to have a queer superhero, someone who’s really well known,” he offers. “I mean, hell, you have your face on cereal boxes. Kids see that shit every day! Queer kids see that shit every day!” He’s playing off the slight high he feels, enough of a boost to give him a little more confidence to say what he never usually would say. “I would’ve loved that. But, you know, it’s also not your responsibility. If you want to get out of the superhero gig, get out. That’s what I did. Cut me off from the villain track too.”

Will squirms in his arms to look up at him. “You’re not your father,” he says, deadly serious. Warren gives him a soft smile.

“I know I’m not my father.” He isn’t. He’s scared of becoming like him, but he knows he isn’t right now. And-- “The problem is, no one else seems to know that.”

“I know,” says Will. He keeps staring at Warren. “I know you.”

Warren considers that statement. He’s not sure that’s true, not entirely. Maybe Will thinks he knows him. But it’s been years since they ever hung out together, and even in their high school days Warren preferred being on his own to strengthening any bonds of friendship. There was a reason he cultivated a tough-guy facade. But then again, in a way Will _did_ know him. “Sort of,” he finally says. “I guess you maybe do.” He lets out a huff. “It’s the daddy issues.”

Will punches him in the chest. Warren can tell he pulls it. It still hurts.

Halfway through the night, Warren wakes up to find himself on the edge of the bed, turned to where Will is sleeping on his yoga mat on the floor. He doesn’t know why he didn’t make Will leave. Or rather, he does know why and he doesn’t want to think about it. He tried to get Will to sleep on the couch, but it’s not a pullout, and Will’s legs clearly hung right over the side. So here he is again, back on Warren’s floor.

He looks--peaceful. Like the old Will. The lines of his face are smoothed over, and his hair flops in an ungainly manner in all directions. It’s always been messy. He doesn’t quite snore, exactly, but his breath is heavy as he sleeps, the rise and fall of his chest matching the slight noise Warren can hear. As Warren stares down at him, he shifts, moving the arm under his head out so that he’s lying directly on the pillow. He scrunches his nose as he does it. It’s adorable. 

Warren lets one hand drift over the side of the bed. He desperately wants to touch him. For years, he’s wanted Will to be as close to him as they were this evening. But to take advantage of what Will gave him--the trust Will placed in him--that would be the bigger sin. Despite how handsome he is. Despite how much Warren has always wanted him, a little flame burning somewhere deep inside.

As he shifts his hand back towards his chest, Will’s eyes flicker open.

“Warren?” he says, voice addled with sleep. “‘s something wrong?”

“No,” says Warren quietly, hoping his face isn’t flaming with the heat of the embarrassment he feels. “Go back to sleep.”

Will gives him a small little smile. Even that lights up his face, highlights his eyes and makes Warren just that much more deeply stuck into his attraction. An attraction that had started surface level and has, over the years, and indeed even in this very day, picked up on all the details that made Warren fall into affection, and fondness, and--dare he even think it--yearning.

Fuck. He was so fucking stupid.

“You’ve got your broody face on,” says Will. 

“You know you just compared me to a hen laying eggs, right?”

Will gapes at him. “No, I--well, I guess--you know that’s not what I meant!”

Warren can’t help it. He laughs. Seeing Will so flustered is always a delight.

But now Will is fully awake, and clearly willing to take Warren on. As Warren watches, he scrambles out of the makeshift bed and launches himself into Warren’s, slamming his whole body weight down on Warren’s chest. Warren lets out a pure “oof” of pain and loss of breath.

And then it is _on_.

Warren and Will had been frequently paired up after their first ‘Save the Citizen’ for the same exercise and many other similar activities. They had wrestled both against and with each other. Warren had relished the entanglement, however misdirected it was. But now--

This was personal. And Will was barely using an ounce of his super strength, and Warren wasn’t flaming at all, and it was like they were just two regular people, trying to keep the noise down as they tussled. Warren grinned into his stranglehold and flipped Will over his shoulder. This was _great_. He could feel Will’s skin against him, both of them only in boxers, and Will was desperately trying to stifle the giggles and failing.

But an unanticipated consequence of the close contact soon arose. Not to put too fine a point on it.

“Stop,” says Warren finally, when he realizes any attempt to keep his erection away from Will’s body is going to ultimately be a failure. “Stop, stop, uncle!”

Will freezes on top of him, grin lessening a bit. “You alright?”

“We’re going to wake everyone else up, we’re too loud,” is Warren’s weak explanation. He turns his face away, burning. He’s so hot. If Will didn’t get off him soon, he’s going to have choice but to give all this fire somewhere to go and flame up.

“Are you sure--” Will shifts in the middle of his sentence, and then freezes. His eyes widen.

“Get off of me,” chokes out Warren, suddenly aware of all the points at which he and Will are touching, especially where his own hard dick is poking Will in the thigh. He goes to push Will away, wishing he had just stayed on the floor, goddamn it.

But Will isn’t moving. Instead, he uses his super strength to force Warren still, his hands on Warren’s bare chest. “Hey, hey,” he says, clearly trying to be reassuring. “It’s okay. Warren,” he says, as Warren tries to bury his face in the pillow beside him. Maybe if he get his mouth and nose totally covered he can just suffocate and not have to hold this incredibly awkward conversation. “It’s okay. Totally normal reaction.”

“Normal reaction?” spits Warren, flabbergasted enough to abandon his asphyxiation technique. 

Will shrugs uncomfortably. “Yeah man, I get it. Wrestling with another guy, you know--”

“It’s not just that it’s another guy,” says Warren, cutting Will off. They’re already here. They’ve already shared so much. What’s another secret out in the open? If Will leaves, he leaves. Warren’s survived this long without him. “It’s because it’s you.”

Will looks at him like he can’t quite believe it, his eyes wide and brow furrowed. “Me?” he asks.

Warren bristles. “Don’t be stupid,” he growls. “I panted after you for years in high school. Layla and I even had the world’s awkwardest conversation about it after you two broke up. And then, when I saw you standing on the street yesterday night--” He coughs out a bitter laugh, recalling the moment. “After I got over the shock, all I could think of was how lovely you looked. And how glad I was you were there, even though I ran away from you and everything else two years ago.”

Will stares at him. “I didn’t know,” he whispers.

Warren grunts. “Yeah,” he says, frustrated with himself and the whole damn situation. It’s clear Will doesn’t want him back. He goes to push the other boy off him, and resolves to kick him out in the morning. “That has become pretty clear.”

But Will won’t let Warren move him. Instead, he gets his hands around Warren’s wrists, slams them to the bedsheets, and leans forward to kiss Warren.

Warren gasps into it, utterly surprised. Will’s lips are soft, and he gentles Warren into the kiss, leads him through the opening movements like a conductor starting up the orchestra. He’s so lovely, and so warm. Warren lets Will ease his mouth open, helps guide the kisses to become fiercer and deeper until their noses are smashing together in an attempt to get themselves closer. Will’s sliding his hands up and down Warren’s chest, like he can’t quite believe what he’s feeling, while Warren gets his hands on Will’s hips and tugs him down. The two of them moan in synchronicity when their erections rub together, breaking the connection of their mouths.

“Okay?” asks Warren, breathless. “This--you want this?” ‘This’ means more than he knows Will can give. But hopefully he’ll interpret it as simply sex, now.

“Yes, please,” says Will, grinding down onto him, hands still roaming. “God, you’re so hot. You feel so warm.”

“Tell me if I start burning you,” says Warren, before he gets his mouth around Will’s right nipple and bites gently. It’s a risky move, but Will reacts beautifully, pushing into the touch and dropping his head forward.

“Does that--does that happen a lot? Are you going to flame up?” pants out Will.

“Won’t flame, probably,” says Warren, even though he feels like he’s just on the edge of doing so. It’s never happened _before_. “But I get pretty hot.”

Will laughs, and then moans when Warren sneaks a hand under his boxers. “Off, off, off,” Will chants, pulling at Warren’s waistband. They get their pants off after some trial and error, in which Warren gets thoroughly distracted by Will’s abs, and Will keeps pulling him back up to kiss him. They’re sweating by the time their skin slides together.

“What do you want?” asks Warren, finally tearing his lips away from Will’s and sitting back a bit. The shifting makes their cocks grind together, and they both moan.

“Holy shit,” says Will, looking up at him, face flushed and hair messier than ever. “You. Everything. Whatever you want.” He’s shifting on the bed, trying to get Warren to come back, to touch him. But he’s not trying to throw off the grip Warren has on his arms, keeping him pinned to the bed.

Warren grins, wicked, and bites at Will’s earlobe. “You’re tired of trying to be in control all the time, huh,” he says, whispering. “You want me to hold you down? You want me to tell you what to do?”

“Fuck,” whimpers Will, almost melting into the sheets. “Warren.”

“Yeah, babe,” says Warren, kissing him hard before he slides down Will’s chest. “Don’t move,” he says, and swallows Will’s cock.

Will makes a sound almost like a yelp, and his hands fly to Warren’s hair. Warren closes his eyes, and keeping his teeth carefully covered, flicks his tongue to taste him. He knows some people regard it as degrading, but he’s always loved giving blowjobs. There’s such a sense of power in being able to control a person’s pleasure from down below them. And from here he can smell the deep dark scent of Will, sweaty and pure. He pulls out all the stops, not sure if he’ll ever get to do this again.

“Fuck, fuck,” Will is chanting above. “Warren--I’m gonna--oh my god--”

Warren pulls off just in time, letting Will spill into his hand instead. Will moans, long and loud as he comes, and then flops boneless onto the bed. Warren moves up to kiss him, and wraps one semen-soaked hand around his own dick, stroking frantically now, so turned on by the sight of Will’s orgasm that he can’t wait another minute.

“Wait, let me--” says Will into Warren’s mouth, reaching for him, but it’s too late. Warren comes, and collapses forward, smearing their come together and over both their stomachs. Will wrinkles up his nose in disgust, and Warren laughs, nuzzling his nose in Will’s hair. He feels warm and content, happy to just lay here in the mess.

“I wanted to help,” Will almost whines. 

“You did,” says Warren, a little punch drunk. “You were right there the whole time, babe.”

Will’s quiet for a moment, trailing a hand up and down Warren’s back. Warren likes how he taps each vertebrae as he goes, like he’s checking to make sure Warren is still whole. Is still with him.

“Can I stay here for a bit?” he asks softly, right when Warren is on the edge of falling asleep again. The question makes Warren jolt.

“Here?” he asks, confused. 

Will squirms a little and looks away. “I just need to--not _here_ here, but maybe somewhere in the neighborhood. Nearby. Or, look, that’s stupid, I guess I just wanted to--”

“Yes,” interrupts Warren neatly. “Yeah. I mean, it can’t be more than a week, my roommates and I have an agreement--any longer than that and you’ll be paying my part of the rent.” Will laughs softly, eyes bright with relief. Warren can’t look away from him, even though his head is now tipped at an incredibly awkward angle. “But--I know what you’re running from.”

He thinks he should say more than that, but he doesn’t know what. Or how.

Will gives him a little smile. And then kisses him. Warren blinks as he does it, his lips soft and sweet. Oh. So maybe it wasn’t just a one-off.

“Thank you,” he says, and then with a teasing smile, he adds, “Babe.”

Warren fake scowls at him. “I won’t be held responsible for anything that comes out of my mouth during sex,” he says gruffly.

Will raises one eyebrow. “So you don’t want to tie me down?” he asks, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Warren pinches him, and he laughs.

Will is still in his bed come morning. They’d cleaned themselves off, and Warren had reset his alarm for a little later than normal. He had planned to finish his final project that Sunday, but suddenly it had not become the greatest priority on his list. Besides, he had a whole week before the thing was due.

He doesn’t even need the alarm, as it turns out. Because at nearly nine in the morning, he and Will are woken by a loud banging on Warren’s bedroom door. 

“The fuck?” Will murmurs, stirring out of Warren’s arms. Warren lets him go with reluctance in order to deal with the sudden interruption.

He barely has time to yell “What?” before Crystal comes bursting through the door. She’s still in her pajamas, face clear of makeup and hair a wild tangle.

“Warren,” she says, face drawn and worried. “It’s all over the news. Your dad’s escaped from prison.”

Warren is not proud of his reaction, but it’s what he does anyway. He turns to Will, seizes him by the shoulders, and growls out “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” yelps Will. “Holy shit, nothing, Warren, I haven’t been home in weeks. Not since the sunny madwomen did this shit to my hair.” He gestures at his golden locks, face wild.

It’s too much of a coincidence, but Will looks utterly truthful. He slumps into Will’s arms, breathing heavily. “Shit,” he says.

Will pats him awkwardly on the back. “You think he’s coming to find you?”

Warren laughs bitterly. “That’s the last thing he’d want to do, I promise you.” He clears his throat and removes his head from Will’s chest to look back at Crystal. “What are the reporters saying?”

“Well,” says Crystal, swallowing hard and looking at Will. “They’re saying The Commander and Jetstream are already on his trail. And everyone’s wondering where Citadel is.”

The room is very quiet for a long moment. Warren feels sick to his stomach, and with one glance at Will, it’s clear he’s feeling the same way. 

“Look at the two of us,” says Warren with a bitter laugh. “Can’t catch a break.”

“I have to--no,” says Will, cutting himself off. But he looks nervous. Warren’s breath catches in his throat.

“You have to go,” he says dully, removing himself from Will’s arms. “You have to go help your parents catch my dad.” He scrambles to the edge of the bed, grateful to see Crystal disappear back down the hallway. He reaches for a clean pair of boxers.

Will’s arms come around him, and Warren can’t help his reaction--he heats up. Will gasps, and retreats. “You fucker,” he says. “Will you let me say what I need to say?”

“Depends on what shit words are going to come out of your mouth,” says Warren.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Let’s not kid ourselves,” spits Warren, turning to face Will with a deadly glare. “You’re a Stronghold. I’m Barron Battle’s son. Our parents are each others’ greatest enemies. And you think, while they’re fighting it out in midair, everyone is going to be perfectly cool with us living together. Sleeping together. While they battle, presumably causing millions of dollars in damage, and, if I know my father, killing hundreds of people, you and I are just going to be shacked up in here, living out some fantasy dream life? Don’t be an idiot.”

“You literally just admitted that your dad’s the villain,’ says Will, looking angry. It’s not so effective when he’s completely naked. “You _just_ said--my parents are doing the right thing.”

“And you should be doing the right thing with them,” says Warren, heat rising in him. “You’re not supposed to be with me. They’re going to come looking for you to be the Stronghold Three--”

“And you’re going to let me go?” Will yells. His face is beet red. Warren stops in his tracks. “After everything I told you--you’re trying to get me to fight--what the fuck do you want from me?” And then, before Warren can answer, Will’s off the bed and in his face. “You’re just like everyone else, holding me to all these goddamn impossible standards and _assuming_ things about me, and just--just--god!” He lets out this last word with a shove to Warren’s shoulders that sends him hurtling into the desk. Warren recovers quickly and reaches out, seizing Will’s arm.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” he says, suddenly ashamed. The fire building within him has abruptly cooled. “I’m sorry. I just meant--it’s hard to see us living happily together while our parents battle it out. We’re just--we come from two utterly different backgrounds, and, you know, neither of us want to be sucked into the superheroing life, but maybe--” Warren stops, not sure where he’s going. He looks at Will for help.

Will looks at him for a moment, studying him. “Okay,” he says. “No, I’m sorry too.”

“Clearly one conversation and one bout of sex does not make for deep knowledge about each other,” Warren says, trying to ease the grim face Will’s making. It sort of works, as Will’s eyes crinkle at the corners.

“So now that we’ve established I’m not leaving, and you don’t want me gone,” says Will, “What are we going to do about your father?”

Unbidden, Warren’s eyes drift to his bed. How simple things were a couple hours ago, when he had Will’s hands on his back and his nose in his hair. How easy everything had seemed for a few blissful moments, the idea that he could have someone like Will in his bed--in his life.

Nothing good lasts forever. Not for the son of a villain, anyway. Not for someone who’s going to tarnish the beautiful man in front of him, a man already tarnished by the bad treatment of everyone around him. Warren’s not sure he’s better than the masses. He’s not sure he can be good for Will. 

“I don’t know,” he says, gathering Will up and holding him close. Will smells like him, and cigarettes, and sweat. It’s comforting and terrifying all at the same time. “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the abrupt ending, but as much as I wanted Barron Battle to break out of prison, I also did not want to commit to a whole storyline that would take weeks and weeks to write. This was just a fun little pitstop in a fandom I've been thinking about theses past couple of days! I also can't believe this is what I write after my James Joyce fanfic. Who am I? I don't even go here!  
> Unbeta'd, so let me know if there are any glaring mistakes that need to be corrected. As always, I'm available on [tumblr!]()


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